


dancing in the moonlight

by Anonymous



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Ballet AU, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, jihoon needs to live a little, they are all ballet dancers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 18:27:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14899701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: jihoon just wants to prove that he's a good dancerjunhui just wants to have funakaa junhoon ballet au





	dancing in the moonlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ssvtea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssvtea/gifts).



> hi hello ! i hope you like this ! i based it off one of my old fics i have written and i really liked how it turned out  
> this is dedicated to my favourite person in the world and i love her so much. happy birthday lily i hope this fic has made you as happy as you have made me !! i love you <3
> 
> anyway i hope you enjoy !!
> 
> also the paragraphing is weird on here because my laptop hates me im sorry- I will try to edit it later

It was dawn, and the nightjars were singing in the bracken outside the window. The room was quiet, and warm, and very very still. It was July.

  
Jihoon lay on his back on the floor, arms by his sides like a corpse, and raised one leg very slowly. He kept it straight. He swept it out as far as he could to one side, until his stiff toes brushed the paisley quilt on the bed.

  
_ Hold it, hold it, hold it _ ghosted across his ear. Slowly, he returned to his starting position. The muscles in his legs hissed; it was almost time to stop. He trained his eyes on the white chimney breast in front of him as he worked. The dappled orange glow of the morning fluttered on white walls, dancing gently in a sleepy daze, and he thought he might drift off like this.

  
He sat up, just as the sun peeked over the crack willow outside, and peeled his vest off, pleased with its dampness. Apprehension stirred low in his belly as he dropped it in the wicker basket beside the door, followed by a pair of slim pyjama bottoms, and padded into the adjoining bathroom.

  
Standing, back straight, chin tilted up towards the shower head, he let out a soft, pleased hum as the hot water licked its way down his body. And when he was clean, before he got out, Jihoon reached behind himself, placed a hand on the warm tiled wall and slowly, very carefully, arched his back, leaning into the block of his arm, until his spine popped from base to neck, and a soft, satisfied moan slipped from his lips.   
  


~*O*~

He'd arrived at Pledis four years ago; timid, awkward in speech, lovely on his feet. When the panel had asked him what he wanted to be, he'd mistakenly blurted out "ballerina", and two of them had looked at each other and the third one had laughed. But he'd pirouetted his way into their respective consciences and, seeing that his body was too good to go to waste, they'd promised to work on his demeanour throughout his time at the school.

  
They had, in a way. Drama lessons and Character took up only a small part of the curriculum at Pledis Ballet Academy, and Elocution even less. He danced three hours a day, four on Saturdays, and one hour every evening was spent in strength training. His alarm clock was set to wake him at five o'clock every morning. By seven he was warmed up, showered, and in the breakfast hall. Unless he had a show, he went to bed at precisely ten o'clock every night, after a cool shower and a ten-minute grooming regime which included moisturising his face and hands, keeping his toenails uniformly clipped, and shaving his underarms.

  
He'd hated schedules before he came to Pledis but had grown to, if not love them, accept that they were necessary. There were few other boys at the school who showed the same level of commitment, Jihoon was well aware. But he was also aware that if he devoted himself to structure, followed the science that said such rigid regimes would help him become what he wanted to be, he knew by the time he left Pledis he would be superior to all of them.

  
That was something which was especially important today.

  
Every year the boys were required to re-audition in order to secure their place at the school for another two terms. Jihoon had been successful four years running, had swanned his way through with ease and grace and something close to charm. But his mother had always told him that if a ballet dancer was going to lose their way, they'd do it at seventeen.

 

His last year at the Upper school was crucial, absolutely vital. If he completed the last year, he would be on his way to becoming a professional ballet dancer. Today, at ten o'clock, was his audition, and he was determined that nothing would come between him and his passing it. He had not lost his way. He had not lost his way. He'd been chanting it to himself for the past month, like a psalm, and he knew it to be true. Lee Jihoon was not perfect, but he could dance. He knew that.

  
At 9:30 exactly, after a breakfast of grapefruit and orange juice, he descended the winding iron staircase to the Dance Hall. It was the worst hall, the one they used for first and second year recitals. It was dark, and the floor was uneven. A rumour had spread amongst the older boys that they held all here because the school was losing money and the staff wanted to make sure only the very best got in by auditioning them in the most difficult room.

  
Jihoon knew it was untrue, and stupid anyway because the school was funded by the government, not by fees. But even so, as he walked into the changing area outside the hall he felt a kind of bitter resentment towards the judges, towards anything that might get in his way. He sat on one long wooden bench and cracked his white shoes and pulled them on, watched as a blond boy with beautifully sculpted arms and legs strode out with a smug smile on his face, then took a deep breath and entered into the room.   
  


_ I have not lost my way. _

 

~*O*~

  
"You dance like you are miserable," the third judge, his fourth year Modern Dance teacher, told him in his thick French accent. He had a high forehead and sharp, ratty eyes, and always smelled of musk.

  
Jihoon stared at him in a kind of drunken bewilderment. "I'm not miserable," he whispered.

  
The French judge shrugged and turned to the others.

  
"Well done, Jihoon," said another, the only lady. Jiwoo was her name. He didn't know who she was, she'd never taught him, but she had been on the panel every year so far without fail. "We'll be seeing you next year."

  
Re-entering the changing room Jihoon passed through a cloud of ashy deodorant and old sweat, registering the familiar, nauseating scent before discovering a softer, soapy quality within. He found next to his locker Wen Junhui. He was a Lower schooler like Jihoon, seventeen-years-old and one of the most renowned dancers in the school. He'd played the lionised Romeo in last year's Shakespeare production, and Prince Siegfried in Swan Lake.   
  


He was one of the most attractive boys in the whole year, with thick inky black hair and a sharp face. They lived in different parts of the school, and took different subjects, and had different dance teachers, and Jihoon had never spoken to him but he'd seen Junhui in the breakfast hall sometimes and always thought he ate too much.

  
"Hello," Junhui said now, cheerful and easy. He discarded a t-shirt emblazoned with the name of a band Jihoon had never of and pulled on a very tight black vest. "Have you just had your audition?"

  
Jihoon nodded.   
  


"How did it go?"

  
"I got in again."

  
"Hey, well done, you!" said Junhui, as though they were friends. He glanced at the door, then back at Jihoon with a grin. "What do you think my chances are?"

  
There was a smug, self-satisfied tone to his voice that Jihoon didn't like. Granted, it was difficult to attend a prestigious ballet school for six years and not be at least somewhat aware of your own talent, but Jihoon had never appreciated the arrogance all the boys at Pledis who'd been privileged enough to obtain starring roles seemed to possess. Jihoon wondered, if when he received the star role in next year's production of Don Quixote, he would fall victim to such infuriating vanity.

  
"I'd say they're quite good," Jihoon replied, sitting down on the bench and slipping off his shoes. "But then, you already knew that, didn't you?"

  
Junhui gave a laugh that was not altogether fitting of his appearance. "What's your name?"

  
"Jihoon."

  
"I'm Junhui. Wish me luck!"

  
Jihoon didn't.

~*O*~

  
For the summer, Jihoon' mother assumed the role of teacher and spent all of July and August enforcing too many breaks from dancing making him drink too much chamomile tea. Jihoon was glad to return to Pledis, to complete his final year of training and to win the role of Don Quixote. He had been a mere backup in both Romeo and Juliet and Swan Lake, not even worthy of a name, faceless in white paint and feathers. This year he was going to shine. He could feel it in his very bones.   
  
His new room arrangements were as followed. To his left was Jisung, the blond boy whose audition had taken place prior to Jihoon's. To his right was a boy named Mingyu who spoke too much and was only ever not clumsy when performing. Opposite was Junhui, the wondrous Romeo.

  
On the first day back, he wandered into Jihoon's room, uninvited, and sat down on his bed. He wore a black t-shirt and very tight jeans. His black hair was wet, and when he reached to push it back his biceps rippled smoothly. Jihoon quirked a brow. He had been in the middle of unpacking.

  
"You have a lovely view," Junhui commented, leaning across the bed to peer out of the window. "Mine overlooks the car park. Except I've a bigger bed than you."

  
Jihoon found himself surprisingly jealous. "Do you?"

  
"I have to. Doctor's orders. My back hasn't been right since Swan Lake." He slid gracefully off the bed and wandered over to the chest of drawers, pawing at the things Jihoon had already unpacked. "Course, it has advantages other than those of an orthopaedic nature."   
He turned and offered Jihoon a sly grin, and Jihoon answered him with a small, humourless chuckle. 

He wasn't surprised. He knew the sorts of things that went on at Pledis, and while it was a commonly quoted stereotype that all male ballet dancers were gay, it wasn't unreasonable to suggest that a lot of them at Pledis actually were. Jihoon had long since acknowledged his own desires, but unlike the other boys, he wouldn't allow himself to become caught up in them. Relationships were a nuisance, and sex was a distraction.

  
"Say," Junhui said suddenly, picking up a small, ornately-painted wooden box. "What's this?"   
"It's my music box," Jihoon told him. He started towards him and hesitated. "Please don't touch it."

  
"Sorry." Junhui placed it back down carefully. "Where did you get it?"

  
"It’s a gift from my grandma."

  
"That's nice," said Junhui, already gazing around for something else to play with. His bright, grey gaze landed on Jihoon. "Will you come and have a drink in my room tonight?"

  
"I don't drink, sorry."

  
Junhui smiled conspiratorially. "Well no, none of us drink, Jihoon."

  
"Yes, but I really don't."

  
"Come along anyway. Well, if we're going to be living opposite one another we might as well be friends. And we're in the same ballet class this year, too."

  
"How do you know that?"

  
Junhui pointed to the timetable Jihoon had already blu-tacked to the wall above his desk. "It says so right there. With Kwon Soonyoung. I can't wait, he's amazing."

  
"Yes, pretty amazing."

  
"You've been taught by him before?"

  
"Not exactly. He led a class for myself and some others once for Romeo and Juliet,  He's... he's wonderful. Incredible."

  
Soonyoung took only seventh years for men's ballet class, and at thirty-two was a retired professional. He was a magnificent dancer, difficult to please and very, very beautiful.   
"He is," Junhui drawled. "He tutored me for Romeo. And Swan Lake."

  
He stepped right up close to Jihoon and smiled down at him, a good few inches taller. He had a very hard, straight jaw and plump pink lips.

 

"Tonight then?" he prompted, and Jihoon blinked.

  
"I'm sorry?"

  
"Tonight. Come to my room tonight." Junhui swaggered out of the room without waiting for an answer. Jihoon watched the muscles and blades of his black-covered back gliding as he went. Then he padded after him, to ask what time.   
  


~*O*~

Junhui hadn't unpacked when Jihoon got to his room at nine o'clock that night. His room was a bit smaller than Jihoon', taken up mostly by the queen-sized bed, so that Jihoon wondered where Junhui did his morning stretches. He probably didn't do them at all.

  
It smelt of fresh smoke and vodka when he went in, and Junhui was dropping a hand towel on to the carpet where a plastic cup of something red had been knocked over. Mingyu sat beside it, looking drunkenly sheepish. They were joined by three other boys, two of whom Jihoon didn't recognise and one he'd never spoken to.

  
The two, it transpired, were exchange students from America. The other was Junhui's friend Minghao, who wore the most exquisite clothes and was giggling at the mess Mingyu had made.  

  
"Sit next to me, Jihoon," Junhui ordered, climbing over Mingyu's legs to flop down on to the bed. He patted the space beside him. His other hand was holding a cup of clear liquid.   
Jihoon did as he was told, wary of the situation. He hadn't realised other people would be here. He'd thought they were just going to have a chat, perhaps about technique or something. After all, Jihoon still wanted to be in bed by ten. He had his first ballet class at half past nine tomorrow.

  
"This is Vernon, and this is... this is -"

  
"Joshua."

  
Junhui grinned at his new-found American friend. "Yeah." He turned back to Jihoon. "Do you know Mingyu and Minghao? And would you like a drink?"

  
"I do. And no, thank you. Not tonight."

  
"You don't drink?" asked Vernon, sounding surprised.

  
"I'm afraid not."

  
"Do you smoke?"

  
"No."

  
"Then how do you dance?"

  
They all laughed, except Jihoon. He didn't mind. He was used to people here thinking him strange, but he knew too many boys who lived off vodka and threw up after every breakfast, lunch and dinner, and he wasn't about to apologise for discovering a healthier way to live and dance.

  
"I enjoyed The Rite of Spring," Joshua told them after his third drink, "but there is little room for males. I was Von Rothbart in Swan Lake."

  
"I was in Swan Lake too!" Junhui said in drunken wonder. Jihoon looked at him sharply and for a moment seemed to dislike him quite a lot. He couldn't tell if it was because Junhui was drunk, or if it was merely what he was saying.

  
"You were the prince," Vernon smiled.

  
"Of course."

  
"It's a demanding role."

  
"Didn't bother me in the slightest," said Junhui, waving a dismissive hand.

  
"I thought you said you injured your back?" Jihoon said innocently.

  
Junhui looked at him. "I didn't say injured."

  
"I just assumed that's what you meant."

 

"Well, it's not." Junhui turned back to the others, looking proud. "I've never had an injury in my life. And I  _ never  _ will."

  
"You might want to touch wood," Mingyu slurred from his place on the floor.

  
"Never?" Vernon said doubtfully.

  
"Not unless you're counting skin burns," Junhui replied.

  
"I find that difficult to believe."

  
"Believe what you want."

  
Jihoon didn't want to believe him either, but generally speaking when one of the dancers – especially one of the well-known dancers – had done some kind of damage to themselves, it spread through the school like wildfire. The teachers were beside themselves with nerves if a particular prodigy was bed-ridden. Jihoon couldn't remember any word about Junhui being hurt in the four years he'd been there. He himself had suffered broken toes, sprained ankles, a dislocated shoulder and various cuts and bruises ever since he'd started ballet when he was ten.

  
"Did you take any summer programmes?" Joshua was asking now. He seemed intent on finding something he was better than Junhui at.

  
"Not this year."

  
"I went to two camps," Joshua told him smugly. "One in Toronto, the other in London. They are nothing like your camps here. Or your schools."

  
"Why did you come here then?"

  
Joshua’s stern face dissolved into a rather lecherous smile. He didn't answer. Joshua truly had a had a magnificent body, and afterwards when Jihoon had gone back to his dorm, he could hear them fucking in Junhui's bedroom.

  
Perhaps they were trying to see who was better.

  
Jihoon shut the door and put on Beethoven's Spring Sonata and practised for a while in front of the mirrored wall. When he realised it was long past ten o'clock he swore and turned the music off, relieved to be greeted with silence. He slipped out of his clothes and dropped them in the basket and climbed into bed, alarm clock set for six.

~*O*~

  
The French judge told him he was miserable when he danced, so when Jihoon walked into the Hall in his white vest and grey tights, he offered Soonyoung a big smile he didn't feel quite worthy enough to give.

  
Soonyoung barely even looked at him.

  
"All of you hurry up," he barked, clapping his hands. "Stop slouching over like pigs. Walk gracefully. Gracefully. Just because you're not on stage doesn't mean you walk like animals."   
Jihoon glanced around, confused. No one seemed to be walking like an animal, but Soonyoung appeared to see things that no one else could.

  
There were about thirty in the class altogether, and they were ordered by Soonyoung to line up along the mirrored wall and warm up while the last of the students filed in, a minute or two late and falling victim to Soonyoung's wrath.

  
"I won't have this lazy, piggish, laid-back approach to my classes, boys," he snapped. He wore a thin cotton shirt, the sleeves of which he shoved up to his elbows. "You're here for a reason. To have reached your final year proves you all must possess at least something bordering on talent. And it's your duty to show that to me, all of you. Now. Today we're starting with -"

  
The door swung open and closed for a final time, and Junhui came striding in, black vest and tights clinging to his body, dark hair swept up.

  
"Sorry I'm late," he drawled, "sir."

  
Soonyoung opened his mouth, clearly on the verge of berating him. Then his lips closed, and drew themselves into a broad, pleased smile.

  
"Ah, my prince," he beamed, holding out his arms, almost as though he were expecting Junhui to be drawn into them. 

  
A few of the boys looked at each other and sniggered. It was a general fact throughout Pledis that those who weren't friends with Junhui hated him. Jihoon watched him saunter past Soonyoung to join the end of the line and begin warming up, while their teacher ran them through the contents of the day's lesson.

  
They were going to be practising the male solo from Sleeping Beauty. Jihoon knew it by heart.

  
It was not so exuberant that they could not all practice it at once in the big room together, but when it soon became clear that the majority of the class was familiar with the simple piece, Soonyoung ordered them all to one side of the room and called boys up, seemingly at random, to perform the dance alone.

  
Jihoon was not stupid. He knew this wasn't a simple warm-up lesson. Soonyoung was already picking out contenders for Don Quixote, in the first class of the term. He'd whittle them all down to about half, and then begin scheduling extra-curricular classes to find the perfect Don. Jihoon glanced to where Junhui was sitting and knew without doubt that he would be in those extra-curricular classes.

  
But Wen Junhui was not a better dancer than him, and Jihoon reminded himself of this fact when Soonyoung's steely eyes landed on him and he said, "You. Up you go."   
He took a deep breath to steady himself as he stood, legs unfolding gracefully. He tugged his white vest away from his body, wafting it for coolness as he walked to the centre of the room, and pushed his hair out of his eyes. Soonyoung nodded to the boy by the radio, and high violins flooded into the room.

  
He turned once, leapt, and began to dance. This was his magic, his medicine. His body so free of pain, mind so free of thought. He heard the music and he was listening, he was listening, and then he was gone. For fifty-five seconds he was gone.   
Soonyoung cocked his head from side to side when Jihoon returned to earth. "Precise," he said eventually. "Fair. Sit down."

  
Jihoon tried not to be too crestfallen.

  
Junhui was next. Soonyoung called him up with a warm smile, watching like a proud parent as Junhui glided into place. He ran a hand up beneath his black vest, across his stomach, unnecessarily. Then the music started, and from the side-lines Jihoon watched.

  
It began slowly. Junhui's first turn was almost bored. Then he caught their teacher's eye, and smiled, and suddenly flung himself into the air with such carelessness that Jihoon let out a small noise of surprise, almost as though he were ashamed for Junhui, since Junhui could never feel such a thing himself.

  
And then, quite soon, Jihoon realised, as Junhui threw himself wildly around the room, that while he wanted to laugh and scoff and point out how terribly crass and uncouth a dancer Junhui really was, he couldn't. Because it was beautiful. It was so beautiful. It was like watching fire spread.

  
Junhui' black hair came free of its ponytail and whipped wildly about his face, which was grinning and alive with unadulterated pleasure; his muscles twisted and tightened and rolled like coupling animals; his body soared, imprecise and gorgeous, his pauses too short, his pirouettes too wild; where he was supposed to sauté once, he did so twice; his chassés were too frequent, and his body leapt in heedless ways, dark and lithe, like black water.

  
It was wrong. Practically every step was wrong, or adapted, or extended. It was so perfect Jihoon ached.

~*O*~

  
He didn't wait to speak to Junhui in the changing room afterwards. He didn't know what he could say, how he could appropriately convey how he felt about Junhui's dancing, yet at the same time how much he hated him for it.

  
It wasn't until after dinner that they bumped into each other. Jihoon was going into his room and Junhui was coming out of his. They quite literally bumped too, their shoulders colliding, so that Junhui looked back at him and smiled and apologised, and Jihoon felt his heart drop into his stomach.

  
"Junhui," he croaked.

  
Junhui turned, expectant. He had a bottle in his hand. He was going to somebody's room.   
"Yes?" he prompted after a few moments of silence. He turned around fully to face Jihoon, suddenly looking intrigued. "What is it?"

  
Jihoon licked his dry lips and wondered how he could adequately get across both sentiments of awe and jealousy, without the latter actually sounding like jealousy, or the former sounding like awe.

  
"I thought you were very good today," he said eventually.

  
"Thanks! I thought you were too."

  
"Don't you know Sleeping Beauty?" Jihoon blurted out.

  
Junhui looked surprised at this. "I'm sorry?"

  
"You got some of the steps wrong. Well, quite a few actually."

  
For a moment their eyes met, and almost seemed to lock, grey key on brown. Surprisingly, it was Junhui who looked away first, with a smile he hid behind his hair when he glanced down at his feet.

  
"I must have been enjoying myself," he replied.

  
"Are you going to audition for Don Quixote?"

  
"Of course. Aren't you?"

  
"Yes." Jihoon hesitated. "I thought with you having done Swan Lake... and Romeo and Juliet..."

  
"You're not very subtle, are you, Jihoon?" Junhui laughed. He stepped closer, so close that he put a hand out and placed it on Jihoon's shoulder. It felt warm and heavy. "Look, you've got as good a chance as me. Better, even. Like you said, you learn all the steps, and you're lovely when you dance. And they're probably getting bored of me by now, you're right."   
"I wasn't – I didn't mean –"

  
"It's alright, I get it. But yes, I am going to audition this year." He stooped a bit, searching for Jihoon's eyes, a grin still playing on his lips. "If that's alright with you?"

  
Jihoon nodded, feeling stupid. "I thought you were fantastic today," he mumbled. "Really fantastic. The way you... well, it was very good."

  
Junhui' smile turned soft. "Thanks, Jihoon."

  
When he'd left, the place where his hand had been burned through Jihoon' white t-shirt. He went for his cool shower, and determinedly kept his hands in his hair.

~*O*~

  
Two weeks later auditions began. Preparation for them was the most exhausting process Jihoon had ever gone through in all his time at Pledis. He found himself staying up later just to fit in extra rehearsals, determined that he would know every precise step of Don Quixote's backwards as well as forwards before he had to stand before Soonyoung Strong and prove that he was worthy of the role.

  
He'd taken to slipping down to the Hall at night when it was empty to fit in extra practices. Sometimes, if it was early enough, around six or seven, he could play the music on the radio. But if it was any later, he had to imagine it in his head, watch himself leap about the room stupidly to imaginary music.

  
But one night, the very night before the auditions, he found his sanctuary invaded upon.   
Indignation had already begun to creep up into his throat when he saw the lights were on from outside, and when he heard the very faint tendrils of music drifting outwards. When he pushed through the doors though, the feelings dissolved, replaced with surprise, as well as a tender excitement he chose to ignore.

  
Junhui cantered gracefully about the room, his black hair free, his clothes dark and tight against his body as he soared and spun. Jihoon wanted to watch him but Junhui turned and stumbled slightly with a sharp gasp, and then laughed, relieved, when he realised who it was.

  
"God, Jihoon, you scared the fucking life out of me!" he said, clutching his chest for effect.   
"I'm sorry. The hall's normally empty at this time."

  
"Yeah, well. I'm afraid I've already set up camp for the evening." He held out his arms. "Though you're welcome to share."

  
Jihoon wasn't sure about this at all. He only ever let his teachers and his mother see him practising, in case he made any mistakes. He stepped a bit closer, hesitant.

  
"Are you... are you practising your audition piece?"

  
"What? Oh, no. No, I'm sick of that. It's all I've been doing the past month. It's seeping into my dreams. I'm singing it in the shower. I can't take it anymore. This is just..." He waved to the radio vaguely, which was still playing something jaunty and light that Jihoon didn't recognise. "I don't know what this is. It was already in the CD player when I came in."   
"But the auditions are tomorrow. You're just... doing whatever?"

  
Junhui huffed out a laugh. "If you like." He swanned over, hands on his hips, and when he came close Jihoon could see how hard he'd been working; beads of sweat were pooling in the hollow of his throat, his face flushed with a healthy glow.

  
"Don't you ever do that?" Junhui asked, cocking his head to the side. He spun carelessly and wandered back over to where he'd been before. "Just... make it up?"

  
"Me? Not really. I wouldn't know how. You're not really supposed to improvise in ballet."

  
"Not supposed to," Junhui echoed derisively. "Do you always stick to the rules, Jihoon? Though I think that's an unfounded one. I've taken ballet for a decade and I don't remember reading anywhere that you weren't allowed to mess about and do whatever you like."   
"It's just a very technical form of dance and I think it always requires precision. I think it deserves it." Even as he spoke, Jihoon wondered why he was saying it; Junhui had already proved to him that precision was low on the list of requirements for a piece of dancing that to watch could make your bones ache.

  
"You're too highly-strung," Junhui told him.

  
"No, I'm not."

  
"But you are, you are."

  
"But I'm not!"

  
"How do you relax?"

  
Jihoon replied without hesitation, "I dance."

  
"How can dancing relax you when you're so concerned about getting every step right?"

  
"I make sure I know every step so well that I don't have to think about what I'm doing."

  
"That sounds like a lot of hard work."

  
"I like working hard. It's satisfying."

  
Junhui studied him carefully for a moment, the music still singing out in waves of yellow-coloured notes. Then he grinned, impishly. "Do you want to know how I relax?"   
He fixed Jihoon with bright, mischievous eyes. It was obvious that Junhui assumed Jihoon fancied him, so fond he was of himself. It was the unfortunate truth that he was right.   
  


"I could probably guess well."

  
"Sex is a multi-purpose activity." The word came out so abruptly that Jihoon jumped. Junhui began to saunter close again, speaking all the while; "Loosens you up, releases endorphins, magnificent work-out. Taps into your inner animal."

  
Junhui was close again now, but the words were too amusing for Jihoon to do anything but let out an unattractive snort of laughter.

  
"No, straight up," Junhui protested. "That's what Soonyoung said."

  
Jihoon stopped laughing. "Soonyoung told you that?"

  
Junhui shrugged. "He recommends sex to all his students. Not with him, mind. Though I wouldn't say no, would you?"

  
Jihoon began to feel uncomfortable again. He was strangely bothered by the idea of discussing such a subject with Junhui. All he could do was shrug his shoulders. Junhui laughed. Then he held out a hand.

  
"Dance with me, please."

  
Jihoon looked up at him. "What?"

  
"I like the music, I want to dance to it."

  
"Dance then."

  
"With you. Come on. I haven't had a partner in ages that wasn't so concerned with telling me exactly how many times I'm supposed to ballonné and chassé and whatever else." Still he held his hand out. "Come on, Twinkle Toes. That's what Soonyoung called me during Swan Lake, because of my name. Revolting, isn't it?"

  
Jihoon finally took his hand and agreed that the name was, indeed, revolting. Junhui's palm was warm and slightly damp with sweat, and Jihoon liked how firm it felt when their fingers slid together and Junhui pulled him into the centre of the room. His strong hands travelled down to rest on Jihoon's waist, as though he were contemplating his first move. Then with a jolt he slid, pulling Jihoon with him, and that was it. They were dancing.

  
It was difficult at first. Jihoon kept trying to recall steps he already knew, steps that would fit to the music flowing through his head, but he wasn't fast enough, neither for the notes nor for Junhui. He felt intimidated by such effortless grace moving against him.   
Junhui bent to whisper, warm in his ear, Relax, Jihooon, and Jihoon, with little effort, found himself melting back into Junhui's body and closing his eyes and focusing on what he was hearing and what he was feeling, which was a slew of warm cello and a surge of heat in his belly and his back and his neck, and hot breath on his ear, and heavy hands on his sides.   
He stepped to the side, stepped out of himself, and started to move.

  
They slipped and slid effortlessly together, gliding around the wide-open space, claiming it. Their heavy breaths mingled while ivory cotton on ebony twisted and played; blonde hair against midnight black, white Christmas skin on olive. Jihoon' back arched as Junhui' bowed, and heels walked with toes and backs with chests, and then they were turning together, and their torsos pressed hard and breathed in clashing tandem.

  
Junhui let Jihoon go and caught him and brought him back into his body in time with an intricate orchestration. Their lips met, hot and wet, and slid together in reminiscence of their bodies. Soon they stopped dancing, and it was only their mouths that moved, warmly, one on top of the other, tongues sliding into wet heat, weaving, searching, hungry and hot and desperate.

  
Jihoon forgot all grace and slid his hands into Junhui' black hair, grabbing great fistfuls of it and pulling, trying to pull Junhui against him though their bodies were pressed so tightly that too soon they were forced to break for air.

  
They stood, panting, with swollen lips and messy hair and open mouths. Then they surged up against each other once more and their lips met in another frenzied kiss.   
"Jihoon," Junhui breathed when they finally pulled apart. Their foreheads came down gently to rest together. "Jihoon."

~*O*~

  
They arranged to meet in Junhui' room at eight o'clock.

  
Alone in his bedroom, Jihoon peeled off his white vest and tights and took a hasty shower and changed into a pair of loose joggers and a white t-shirt. He gave a quick glance to the mirror on his way out and caught himself looking terribly excited, a pink tinge across his cheekbones and eyes that were glassy and dark. The anticipation of sex welled up inside him, yet it was with some effort that he made his way across the hall to Junhui' room.

  
Junhui smiled when he opened the door. He'd washed too, and his hair was still a bit damp, and he was wearing black low-slung pyjama bottoms. He hadn't bothered with a shirt. Jihoon wondered if it was intentional.

  
The room was a lot different from the last time Jihoon had seen it. The bed was made properly now, heavily decorated with a fairly amusing number of cushions and blankets that made it look like a prince's boudoir. There were framed photographs about the place and posters for musicals and ballets, some of which Junhui had been in and some which had been signed by the stars themselves. And it smelt like Junhui now too; soapy and smoky and slightly woody and fresh and good.

  
Junhui closed the door and drew Jihoon into his arms and kissed him softly on the lips. His warm hands travelled down to the elastic waistband of Jihoon's trousers. He dipped a thumb beneath it, his other hand toying with the drawstrings at the front. Jihoon shivered into the touch. This time he was the one to tilt his head and press their lips together. His left hand slid to the small of Junhui' back, while the fingers of his other curled around the back of his neck. Junhui' hair and lips were so soft, so unlike anything Jihoon had expected from someone so brash.

  
They fell as gracefully on to the bed as two ballet dancers could, and Jihoon lay back and allowed Junhui to undress him and thought that yes, definitely, this was the distraction he welcomed.

~*O*~

  
When he woke, it was with firm arms wrapped around him, and a nose buried in the crook of his neck, and warm legs entangled with his own. For a moment, Jihoon allowed himself a tiny smile. Then his bleary eyes registered the bedside clock, and with a gasp he threw Junhui off and tumbled out of bed.

  
"It's a quarter to ten!" he hissed. It was taking too long to distinguish his clothes on the floor from Junhui'. The first thing he found was his underwear, which he hastily pulled on just as Junhui began to properly wake up.

  
"What are you doing?" he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. He lifted the clock and tilted it, yawned and fell back on to his pillow.

  
"My auditions at ten! Why didn't you wake me?"

  
"I was asleep..."

  
Jihoon pulled on his trousers and then tried to find his t-shirt amidst the mess on Junhui' floor. It didn't take long; practically every item Junhui owned was black.

  
"So that's a no to breakfast then?" Junhui muttered after a while.

  
"For God's sake, Junhui!" Jihoon pulled his t-shirt on and spared a last look at the boy in bed. It wasn't that he wasn't beautiful. There were just more crucial things to consider.   
Jihoon wrenched open the door, let it bang shut behind him and flew across the hallway to his bedroom. He grabbed his shoes from the dresser, clean leotard and tights off the hanging rail, and rushed through the boarding house, into the main academy, down into Hall. He almost slipped on the winding iron staircase in his haste.

  
In the changing room he pulled off his clothes and tugged the ballet attire on in double quick time. Someone else's deodorant was standing at the end of the bench, and he quickly took it and used it before tossing it back carelessly. The clock in the changing room said it was seven minutes to ten, so Jihoon flopped back down and ran through the quickest warm-up in his life, cursing Junhui all the while.

  
He refused to acknowledge their night spent together. All his thoughts he focused on Don Quixote, the music, the steps, the loosening up of his body. By the time the door opened, and a boy wandered out, looking crestfallen and defeated, Jihoon's muscles didn't feel nearly stretched enough, his bones not warm enough, his body not loose. A whole term spent waking at five to stretch and swim and shower, to practice in the hall until nine, sometimes ten at night, had all come down to this; seven minutes hasty stretching, with messy hair and a clumsy anger.

  
His name was called, and that was it. He had no choice but to enter in, no choice but to dance. Jihoon forced all thoughts of Junhui aside.

  
_ I have not lost my way. I have not lost my way. I have not lost my way. _

~*O*~

  
The casting list was put up on the notice board outside Genesis Hall a week later. Junhui was Don Quixote. Jihoon was Basilio, the barber.

  
His mouth went dry as he stared at his name. Ridiculously, his first reaction was to cry. He felt the hot, angry tears stabbing the backs of his eyes, trying to force their way out. He drove them back so fiercely his eyes stung, and he rubbed at them irritably, swallowed down the lump in his throat, shrugged off the nameless person who clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, "Hey, well done, Jihoon!"

  
Turning, he forced his way back out through the crowd and banged down the dark, twisting corridors, past the Hall where he had met his fate, past the generic dressing rooms and past the star dressing room where he'd never sat before, and now where he'd never sit at all. At the end of the corridor he found Soonyoung‘s office and banged twice with his fist on the door.

  
"Knock with a little more grace, could you?" Soonyoung said when he opened it.

  
"I've just been helpfully reminded that I don't have any," Jihoon snarled back.   
Soonyoung blinked, apparently surprised. "What's wrong?"

  
Jihoon felt his throat go slack, so that when he tried to burst forth with everything he wanted to shout, his voice cracked, and all he ended up saying was, "I wanted to be Don Quixote."   
Soonyoung said flatly, "I made you Basilio. It's a good role. Be proud. You get to dance with the stars -"

  
"I didn't spend four miserable years here just to lick someone else's shoes!" Jihoon snapped. "It's not fair! I put so much work in! I work so hard, and he..." His voice caught in his throat, and with a growl of frustration he slammed his fist against the wall beside Soonyoung's door. "He doesn't work hard at all!"

  
"Jihoon," Soonyoung said levelly, "this isn't necessary. You're acting like a child. You and Junhui are very different people. You're very different dancers. The panel and I agreed that he captured the character -"

  
"Oh, give me a break. Everyone knows the only reason you keep casting him is because you want to fuck him - "

  
"Watch your mouth," Soonyoung suddenly snapped. He stepped closer, menacingly. "Or I'll take that role off you."

  
"Take it! I don't want it anyway!"

  
Jihoon turned and rushed back down the hall, hands balled up into fists, ignoring Soonyoung's calls. He ignored everyone else around him too, the people who stared and the people who tried to talk him out of his rage. He pushed past them all, up the stairs, slamming doors as he went. He made it all the way to the boarding school, and when he was upstairs, at the end of his corridor, he pushed open Junhui's door, letting it bang open with a loud clatter.

  
Junhui was on his bed with people Jihoon didn't recognise, smoking and playing cards.   
"Do you know you're Don Quixote?" Jihoon demanded.

  
The cigarette glued to Junhui' lip tipped slightly as he opened his mouth to speak. "What?"   
"Congratulations, Junhui!" one of the boys said, nudging him on the arm. Junhui turned to the boy and grinned. Jihoon hated that grin.

  
"Yeah," he drawled, "congratulations, Junhui."

  
He threw himself back out of the room, across the hall to his own, but when he tried to close the door a hand stopped him. Junhui was looking at him with wide, confused eyes.   
"Get out of my room," Jihoon told him.

  
"What's wrong?"

  
"I said get out!"

  
"What have I done?"

  
"Nothing! You've done nothing! That's the point! You don't do anything, do you? You just mess around and drink and eat and skip lessons to go and... to go and fuck people -"   
"What the hell are you talking about?"

  
"You haven't put any work in this term. You come to your lessons late and flutter your pretty eyes at the teacher and everything just goes fine for you, doesn't it? You don't even learn the fucking steps. You don't – you don't deserve to be Don Quixote."

  
"Jihoon -"

  
"I worked so hard!”

  
Junhui tried to take hold of him, to wrap him up in his arms, but Jihoon pushed him away.   
"Get away from me. This is all your fault."

  
"My fault?" Junhui spluttered. "How is this my fault? What do you think, I sucked the panel off?"

  
"I wouldn't put it past you," Jihoon said harshly.

  
"Oh fuck you, Jihoon. It's not my fault I'm a better dancer than you -"

  
Jihoon shoved him hard in the chest, so that Junhui fell back against the wall with a thud that made the items on the chest of drawer’s rattle. Junhui stared at him in surprise. His hands flew to Jihoon's wrists, holding them in place, as though afraid he might be hit.   
"You are not a better dancer than me," Jihoon hissed, believing every word. "Don't ever say that."

  
"I didn't mean it like that. I just -"

  
"Just leave me alone!"

  
He shoved Junhui, hard, away from the wall, in the direction of the open door. He felt Junhui's legs collide with his own as they twisted, and felt too, rather than heard, the heavy thud as Junhui fell to the floor.

  
There washed over the room after that a deathly silence, a stillness that Jihoon didn't understand. He looked down at Junhui, surprised to see him sitting quite still, hunched over into himself. Breathing hard, Jihoon held out a hand to knock his shoulder. Junhui mewled quietly at the contact.

  
Slowly he raised his hand, which was shaking. Junhui' foot had twisted to a sickly, unnatural angle.

~*O*~

  
Joshua, Junhui’s understudy, took the role of Don Quixote. Mingyu became Basilio. Jihoon was no longer taught by Soonyoung who was now dealing only with those involved in the final performance. Jihoon returned to his sixth-year teacher, a fact he was truly glad of. His sixth-year teacher had always thought highly of him.

  
Junhui himself didn't return to Pledis for six weeks, during which time the late summer stretched into a melancholy autumn, and an eerie peace drifted about the place. All sorts of rumours flew around the academy as to what had happened, the most absurd of which was that Jihoon had pushed Junhui down the winding stairs.

  
After Junhui had spent a first night in hospital, Jihoon had been taken to the office of one of the members of staff where it had been quietly explained to him that he shouldn’t feel ashamed, and that the doctor had said Junhui' lower body had been working up towards such an injury for some time, and if it hadn't happened now it probably would have happened during rehearsals for Don Quixote.

  
Jihoon felt that, in a way, they were trying to find a silver lining to the grotesque twist of bone and muscle that had become Junhui’s left foot.

  
He couldn't help but feel guilty though. He was plagued with it. It racked his body, his very bones, as he lay awake at night, wondering if Junhui would ever dance again. He replayed the event in his head over and over until he wanted to be sick. He couldn't understand it; it had only been the smallest push.

  
Junhui came back to Pledis in late November. He did so quietly, without fuss, so that it took almost three days before Jihoon realised the room opposite his was occupied again. Even then, it was in Hall that he found him.

  
Jihoon had been going down there with the intention of dancing off some of the tension that still filled him. When he saw Junhui sitting in front of the mirror, propped up on stretched arms, legs out, he gasped softly. His eyes immediately flew to Junhui' foot, which somehow seemed like it always had, and somehow still looked wrong.

  
"The prodigal son has returned," Junhui grinned with a little wave of his hand when it was obvious Jihoon wasn't going to speak first.

  
"How... how are you?"

  
"I'm fine. How are you?"

  
Jihoon had to swallow hard, as though there were some physical obstruction in his throat. With gentle footsteps he padded towards Junhui, hesitant, almost checking to make sure he was real.

  
"Is your foot better?"

  
"Yeah, right as rain. Well, no, still a bit stiff but I can walk at least. I'm so glad. It's been driving me spare, having my parents wait on me. They kept feeding me all this disgusting stuff and giving me nothing but books on ballet to read. I'm sure they were enjoying themselves."

  
"You haven't been here in so long."

  
"Well, there wasn't much point, was there? I couldn't dance. I studied at home."   
Jihoon looked at him and wanted to say everything.

  
"Junhui, I am so sorry."

  
"I forgive you."

  
"I can't believe... I wish I never -"

  
"Jihoon, I forgive you. I promise I forgive you." Junhui smiled up at him to reiterate his point, and then held out a hand. "Be a nice and help me up."

  
With slight hesitation on Jihoon' part, their hands met, and their fingers curled together, and both of them made it simple for Junhui to lift gracefully to his feet, on which he was still ever so slightly unsteady.

  
"Hey, what's that look for?" Junhui asked when their eyes met. His hands reached out to take hold of Jihoon's face.

  
Tempting though it was to take hold of Junhui' own face, to kiss him, to push back his ridiculous hair, Jihoon couldn't ignore that which had been gnawing at him through the whole of his aching autumn.

  
"You can still dance, can't you?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

  
Junhui smiled down at him. His features were pointed and beautiful. "I was about to find out," he said gently. " _ Dance with me _ , please."

  
Soundlessly, Jihoon did.   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> well that was that mess !!
> 
> this is dedicated to my dear friend lily- a junhoon enthusiast. i hope you enjoyed this fic and i know it's not the idea i originally intended for but either way i hoped you liked it !! happy birthday again <3 
> 
> kudos are much appreciated and i hope you have a great day :))


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